


Heaven Must Be Missing An Angel

by Paradise_Seeker



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s11e10 The Devil Is In The Details, Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 13:12:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5786449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paradise_Seeker/pseuds/Paradise_Seeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You move but your moves seem stilted, awkward. You can't carry yourself like you always do, fluid and effortless, sinuously and dangerously, easy as a snake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven Must Be Missing An Angel

Breathing polluted air for the first time in seven years is absolutely amazing.

Of course, you would have preferred fresh, pure air but the atmosphere on Earth hasn't been the same since those damned misshaped little fish came crawling out of the ocean. Someone really should have stepped on those before they became infernal parasites and crawled all over Creation. Oh well, you take what you can.

You move but your moves seem stilted, awkward. You can't carry yourself like you always do, fluid and effortless, sinuously and dangerously, easy as a snake.

The body is all wrong, for starters. It's too short and too light. You can't tower over people, can't _dominate_ them, can't instill _fear_ in them. You hate that, frankly. Your smile is off, as if this mouth wasn't meant to smirk or smile as much as you do. You absolutely hate your laugh in that throat. The voice is too rough, too gravelly and it doesn't have the charm of your true voice or even the sweet cadence you had adopted with Nick.

Poor poor Nick. You liked that one. Sure, he was just plan B and not a very good one at that, but you have grown fond of that body in time. When you walk the Earth for the first time in millennia, you can't be too picky.

But most of all, you hate how this body is so rigid. Maybe it's because it has been a long while since it's been vacated by its original human soul and that the flesh has grown accustomed to the rigidity of Castiel. So frigid that one. So prude. Dense as a rock and far too stiff. It's frankly astonishing that puny little angel rebelled against Michael. But, oh well, love can make people do stupid things.

Angels weren't meant to love. That's an immense fault in the design of that little scoundrel. Maybe there was a problem in the line of production, maybe God ran out of coffee when he created that one and half-assed him. Father only knows.

But even though you don't like it, have no affinity for it, the vessel is strong. Surprisingly so. You can't deny that. It hosted angels, leviathans (those filthy overgrown _leeches_ ) and billions of human souls. Repaired from scratch again and again by your Father. God only knows why He took a particular interest in that one. Honestly, except from him being capable of feelings, you don't find anything much worth of admiration in Castiel. He's so sad, frankly.

Still, you try to mimic his expressions, his gestures. All you have to do is to be as expressionless as possible and keep your tone very flat. It's boring as Hell but if anything, you're a talented actor.

You should probably go see what all this fuss about the Darkness is about. That's sort of what the faulty angel in the back of your mind is trying to say. Putting him to sleep is less easy than expected but the fight doesn't last long. You're an Archangel and he's just a diminished wingless angel.

When the Winchesters contact you in your throne room – perfected to your taste, not that horrible dungeon slash cheap warehouse that Crowley rat shaped it into – you answer with a smile in your voice.

“Hello, Dean. Yes, I'll be there as soon as I can.”

Time to have some fun.

 


End file.
